Reclaimed Page 14

  Knife wound in the left thigh. Femoral artery lacerated. Internal sutures applied.

  Fifteen small stitches to close wound.

  Lacerated right cheek. Ten sutures.

  Severe blood loss.

  Brought in at three fifteen a.m.

  Paramedics reported patient hallucinating.

  Patient was a threat to the paramedics and to himself as he tried to leave. Had to be heavily sedated.

  Who would stab someone and why did the patient try to flee? People confuse me. I smile. Not as much as my bad-boy mystery man. I look up and gasp, dropping the chart on the foot of the bed as I cover my mouth with both of my hands.

  Dax.

  I start to move when a sudden flash explodes in my mind. A man lying in a bed just after surgery. I can’t see him clearly and the memory fades as quickly as it came.

  I run over to his side, looking up and checking all the monitors surrounding his bed. My heart is choking me as I look down at his face, his right cheek swollen and bruised around the bandage covering it. His long dark lashes shadow over his paled skin. I cup his face on his left side, the skin feeling warmer than normal. “Please be okay,” I whisper as tears streams down my face, not even realizing I was crying. His eyes flutter underneath their lids and my heart beats so wildly it fills my ears. I purse my lips, trying not to cry out in gratitude when his eyes open slowly.

  “It’s you,” he whispers, his voice hoarse and raspy. The corner of his beautiful mouth lifts into a small smile.

  I rub my thumb over his skin. “Shhh.” I smile. “Save your strength to heal.”

  His eyes shift, looking around the room. I jump when he tries to sit up, so weak that he’s not successful in his attempt. “I have to go.” He begins to try to raise himself again, and I lightly push on his shoulders.

  “Dax. You’re hurt. Let me take care of you for a change.”

  He may be weak, but he’s still so strong. I take a small step back when he sits up, moving his legs slowly over the edge of the bed, wincing with his movements, and pulls the IV out of his hand in one swift motion. “You can take care of me at your house.” He grimaces. He turns his head and looks at me. “It’s too dangerous here, Saige.” I don’t move, unsure of what to do. He’ll hurt himself even more by moving but he’s so damn stubborn. His face softens as he looks into my eyes. “Saige. Innocent people could get hurt. The hospital is at risk with me being here.” I swallow hard at his words. “Help me. Get me to your house. I swear I won’t cause you any issues, and I’ll do whatever you say.”

  I look around, worried about how I’d get him out of here safely. I’m sure they had to cut away his jeans in order to tend to his wound. I hold my finger up as I walk to the door. “Don’t move. Not even an inch.” He smiles and then winces. I’m sure that movement caused pain from the gouge in his cheek. Swiftly and with determination, I walk down the small hall to my right, around the corner, and to the storage closet, my mind wanting to take me back to the one at the nursing home, the times Dax took me there. I shake my head, not having time to delve into memories. I open the door, closing it behind me as I step inside, looking on all the shelves. I can’t take pain medicine home but Dad has a prescription at home for Tylenol 3 in his bathroom for when he gets migraines. That and my first aid kit there will have to do for now. I grab a pair of scrubs from the shelf and a blanket. I could get fired for this, lose my nursing license, but right now, I don’t care. I hide the scrubs in the folded blanket and quickly exit the closet.

  As I jog back down the hall, I almost run into Darby when I turn the corner. “Oh! I’m sorry. Just getting an extra blanket for four thirteen.” I smile, but I’m sure she can see right through me. She gives me a strange look but finally shrugs her shoulders and starts walking away. I let out a shaky breath as I continue to Dax’s room. When I walk inside and close the door, he’s still sitting on the edge of the bed, in nothing but a hospital gown. His skin is paler than it was a few moments ago. He looks up at me, and I can tell he’s in immense pain.

  “They took my damn clothes,” he growls but his voice is weak. “Fuckers.”

  I’d find him irresistibly cute but right now, I have to get him out of here. I’m shaking and scared to death as I lay the blanket down beside him and pull out the scrubs. His tired eyes widen. “Thanks, Angel.” I’m not feeling much of an angel right now, more like the devil’s advocate. “Can you get my phone and wallet from the tray at the end of the bed?” I nod and do that quickly, putting them in my pocket.

  “I’ll be right back and I’ll help you dress,” I say with as much of a smile as I can muster.

  Looking around and finding everyone busy as I peek out the door, I half jog down the hall, the other way, and see a couple of wheelchairs sitting in an alcove. Grabbing one, I pull it back and spin it around, pushing it back to his room. My heart is racing and sweat has formed on my forehead. I’d never make a good thief or FBI agent. When I reach his door, I turn around, pushing down on the door handle, and back into his room. When I turn the chair around, I see he’s managed to get the shirt on but is groaning in pain from trying to get the pants on. I push the chair up close to him and lock the wheels.

  I grab the pants from his hands and squat down, putting each foot through the ends. “I thought you were going to do everything I said?” I start pulling them up his legs, careful when I get to his left thigh.

  “When we get to your house, I will,” he says as he winces when he puts his arm around my shoulder, and I help him stand. He sways as I pull the pants up the rest of the way and tie them. I help him hobble over to the chair and sit down, then I unlock the wheels. Turning around, I grab the blanket and throw it over him, pulling it up underneath his neck.

  Squatting down in front of him, I lift his hands and place them at the top of the blanket. “Listen to me.” I can tell he’s having a hard time keeping his eyes open. “I need you to keep your head down and the blanket up high.” He needs rest and painkillers. I have a couple of syringes in the pocket of my scrubs that will help for a little bit. Reaching up, I push back his longer damp hair from his forehead. “I’ll need your help getting you in my car. Do you understand?” He nods then closes his eyes as he puts his head down. “Good.” I look up to the ceiling as I stand. “Lord, please help us get out of here.”

  I walk over and open the door then grasp the handle bars with my sweaty hands. As I push him through the doorway, I look both ways. No one in sight. Quickly, I turn his chair to the left and head down the hall, trying to get to the elevators before anyone notices. To say my heart is lodged in the base of my throat wouldn’t even cover what I’m feeling right now. My hands and arms are shaking, and I can feel sweat drip down my spine. When I reach the end of the hall and turn him to the right, I can see the elevator such a short distance away. We’re almost there! As I get closer, his body sways in the chair. I remove one hand from the handle bar and put it on his shoulder, giving him a squeeze and trying to hold him steady. I finally reach the elevator and push the button, looking around quickly. The doors open. I push him inside and press the button to the lobby. As soon as the doors begin to close, I’m about to let out the breath I’d been holding when Darby appears, pushing open the doors. Shit!

  “Hey there!” she says in her bubbly voice. It grates against my nerves and my anxiety just rose to an all-time high. “Where ya going?” She bends, trying to see which patient is in the chair.

  “Oh! Hi! I’m just taking Mr. Cox down for an x-ray,” I respond, trying to play it cool and not stutter.

  Again, I hold my breath as she studies the person in the chair. I’m dying inside, afraid we’ll get caught. I feel like we’re standing here for an eternity, waiting. Finally, she stands up and smiles. “Have fun with that!” She steps back and out of the elevator, and I try to smile as I lean over and push the button. She waves as the doors close. I release a breath as the elevator starts moving.

  Knowing I don’t have long, I bend down over his shoulder and look at
him. “Are you okay?” I whisper as if anyone could hear me. His eyes open half-mast and he winks. Thank God! The doors slowly open and I look around like a ninja, waiting to push anyone away who tries to stop us. The front doors to the emergency room aren’t far, and I push him as if our lives depended on it. Well, they kind of do. We pass several people but no one looks our way as the front doors slide open and I roll him out. I get him to my car, pushing him to the passenger side, which thankfully is away from prying eyes. I hit my key fob unlocking the doors and open his. Walking around the chair, I bend down. He looks so pale, not at all like himself. Taking his hand, I put it around my neck, ready to help him up. “Can you help me get you into my car?” He opens his eyes again, looks up at my car. Without a word and a lot of wincing, I help him up and struggle to get him onto the seat. Once inside, his eyes shut quickly. I check his pulse and lean close to his mouth. His breathing is shallow, and I’m afraid he’s passed out. Quickly, I strap him in and push the wheelchair up onto the curb then get in my car and start it.

  “Go slow. Don’t make a scene.” I keep chanting in my head. I check behind me and pull out.

  I’m a wreck by the time I pull into my garage and run around the car to help him out. It was difficult to get him inside but luckily he wasn’t passed out as I’d feared. I help him sit on the side of my bed and remove his clothes. Once I’ve gotten him in bed and pulled the covers over him, I take out one of the syringes from my pocket and stick the needle in his arm, hoping to give him some relief. He doesn’t open his eyes again and his breathing is light. I pull up the covers and check his wound then I do the same on his cheek. The stitches are still secure and there’s no redness or irritation showing. So far. I take his phone and wallet from my pocket and set them on the nightstand. I walk into the bathroom, get the first aid kit from underneath the sink and open it on the counter, removing a cotton ball and a Band-Aid. Taking them with me, I walk back and pull up my desk chair and apply both to his hand where the IV was. Sitting back in the chair, I look at him. His brow is sweaty as well as his face. I lean forward and press the back of my hand on his forehead and cheek. He’s too warm. Oh, why didn’t I grab some more painkillers and antibiotics before I left? I mean, I was already breaking out a patient. I might as well have gotten the things needed to take care of him, proficiently. How could I be so stupid? Because I needed to get him out of there – fast. I would do anything for him.

  “Stop worrying,” he says in a whoosh of breath. He cracks open one eye and looks at me as he reaches up and takes my hand.

  “But I don’t have everything here I need to take care of you properly. I have one more syringe for pain and then Dad’s Tylenol 3. It’s not enough, Dax. You need medical help, and I’m afraid I can’t give it to you here.” He closes his eye and lets out a breath, wincing. “See! You can barely move and even the slightest movement hurts you.”

  “Can you hand me my phone, please?”

  Reaching over, I pick up his phone and hand it to him. He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his tormented eyes. God, I feel so helpless. I get up, unable to sit still, and walk into the bathroom, take a washcloth out of the linen cabinet and wet it down with cool water. Maybe I can help cool down his skin a little at least.

  “Yo! Yeah, it’s me.”

  Dax’s voice filters through the room, even though I can tell he’s struggling to talk. I walk to the doorway and stop. I hate that I feel strange listening in on his conversation, but it’s not like I have a choice.

  “What kind of painkillers you got?”

  Oh, my God! He’s calling his drug dealer! And in my house!

  “That sounds good. Yeah, I’m good. I’ll be laid up for a bit though. Sucks.”

  He’s acting like this happens all the time. Maybe it does. What have I gotten myself into?

  “Okay. Yeah. Sure. Just make sure it’s enough. Oh! And I need my car picked up. 51st and Madison. Great. Thanks, man.”

  I take a step back into the bathroom, my heart racing for another reason now. We’ll have to go to a drug drop. To get drugs. We could get caught. I’m too young to go to prison.

  “Angel?”

  Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit! What do I do? Looking at myself in the mirror, I brush the hair away from my face. I wonder how much time I’ll get.

  Aiding and abetting a patient breaking out of the hospital.

  Stealing – scrubs, a blanket, and two syringes of painkillers.

  Bringing said patient to my house.

  Going to a drug drop.

  Having illegal drugs on my person and property.

  I swallow hard, my hand shaking in my hair. This is horrible. I want to help Dax, but I’m not sure I can do this.

  “Angel?”

  Shit! I plaster on a smile and walk into the room, sit down in the chair and place the folded washcloth on his forehead.

  “Ahhh, that’s nice. Thanks,” he murmurs as he closes his eyes. “So, this guy is coming over with…”

  I stand up so abruptly that I knock the chair over with a loud thud. I start wringing my hands as I talk, hurriedly. “I don’t think I can do this. I mean, I’m too young to go to prison, and I really don’t look good in orange, and…” My babbling gets worse. I watch him struggle to turn slightly on his side, holding the washcloth against his forehead and giving me the strangest look. “I really want to help you, I truly do. But I can’t go on a drug drop.”

  “A what?”

  “I mean – I would do most anything for you. I love you and I want you to get well, but I can’t get involved with illegal drugs. I’m already going to be in so much trouble stealing the syringes and two pairs of scrubs. Well, technically these are mine. I paid for them, but oh, my God! Now, I won’t have a job. They know where I live.” I feel like I might pass out, and my stomach is tied up in knots.

  “Hold on,” he says, holding his hand up. “Hold on!” He lowers his hand, palm up. “Come here.” He winces as he tries to move over. I walk over and put my shaky hand in his and he pulls me until I sit down next to him on the mattress. He looks at me and smiles. “Okay. Now, let’s take a deep calming breath.” I pull in a bunch of air and release it slowly. “Good. Now another.” I do it again and surprisingly, I’m feeling a bit better. “Now, let’s dissect your rambling down a bit.” I nod eagerly. He tilts his head making the washcloth fall off. “Did you say you love me?” Did I? Uh, I don’t think I did. Is that all he got out of my tirade? My scattered brain runs through everything I said. “Don’t hurt yourself, Angel. Now, I’m pretty sure I heard you say you love me.”

  “No.” I shake my head, still trying to remember what all I babbled about. “I don’t think I said that.” I would remember something as important as that. Wouldn’t I?

  The corner of his mouth lifts and his tired eyes hold a little bit more light to them. “We’ll come back to that.” He winks and I slump my shoulders. “Drug drop? What the fuck are you talking about?” How can he be confused about that? He’s the one who arranged it!

  I turn slightly and cross my arms across my chest, his eyes zoning right onto my breasts. “You called your…” I hold up two fingers with each hand, making quotation marks. “Contact. You asked for painkillers!”

  He grabs my hand and places his free hand on top of mine, patting it. “Babe. Listen.” My chest is heaving, and I think I might hyperventilate. “Calm down for me.” I nod, but I’m not sure I can. “Okay. I’m gonna take this slow. The business I do…” He waits, and I nod again. “I have kinda like a manager. This guy is going to bring over some painkillers for me. They aren’t illegal. Following me so far?” I nod, but I’m still confused. “He’s a doctor.” Oh. Oh! “He’s bringing over a prescription bottle.”

  “You know a doctor that’s like a manager at the business you do?”

  He nods and smiles. “Yes.” I scrunch my face. He lets out a laugh and winces. “Babe. Just what exactly do you think I do?”

  I sigh, my entire body relaxing in defeat. “I have no idea.”


  He releases my hand and holds his arm out. “Come here,” he whispers, still smiling. I turn and lay down, carefully in his arm, putting my head on his chest. “You’re so fucking adorable.” I’m not feeling all that adorable right now.

  We lay there for so long, and I’m so comfortable finally lying next to him, feeling his warmth and his arm around me that I almost fall asleep. The doorbell sounds and I jump, sitting up like a ram rod. “Ungh!” I turn and see Dax wince and groan.

  “Shit! I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” he says through gritted teeth.

  Carefully, I climb off the bed and start to head out of the room. “Bring him back here with you.” I shake my head, swallowing hard. I start walking towards the front door, talking to myself internally. I’m getting ready to answer my door to a doctor that is doing “business” with my – my – shit! I don’t even know what to call Dax. Lover? Boyfriend? Bad-boy mystery man. Ugh! I’ll be taking drugs from him and that part I’m grateful for, especially because they’re not illegal. I reach the door and take a deep breath and open it for… “Peter? What are you doing here?”

  “Angel! Bring him back here!”

  Peter walks into my house and right past me. I shut the door, my curiosity more than piqued, and follow him back to my bedroom. I stand in the doorway, my arms crossed over my chest and listen.

  “Hey, man.” Dax does this man handshake with Peter.

  “So, you’re officially released from the hospital, about the time you all left,” he begins. He looks at me. “And I clocked you out at the same time and told Darby you were feeling ill.” Wait! What? He looks back at Dax. “I’ve got you a good supply of pain relievers. Anything else you need?” He sets a sack down on the nightstand that I didn’t notice he was carrying.

  Dax looks at him and smiles, then looks up at me. “No, man. Thanks. I have everything I need right here.”